


The Brothers Drake

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Category: Uncharted (Video Games), Uncharted 4 - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, rafe gets around, uncharted 4 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9386690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: Rafe deserves this treasure. He'searnedit; even if he has to wade through every one of his so-called allies to get to it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [jilldrawblog](http://jilldrawblog.tumblr.com) for encouragement and inspiration to write this story.

The first time Rafe meets Samuel and Nathan Drake he’s impressed despite himself. Sure, Sam’s a smooth-talker and Nathan’s a bouncing bundle of energy ready to go wherever his brother directs him, but they’ve got a rapport he envies and a story about long lost pirate treasure that’s just crazy enough to be true. They’re looking for money, which Rafe is willing to provide, on the condition that he’s in on the adventure. That appears to be acceptable - at least, it is to Sam, and Nathan follows where Sam leads - and in those early days, Rafe finds himself thinking that they make a pretty good team.

That’s before Panama, of course. After Panama, everything is different.

* * *

**Nathan**

Nathan is quiet in his grief, far from the easy-going, bright-eyed boy who went into that prison. The man who comes out of it is hollow-eyed and stricken with loss, adrift in a world without his brother.

“He was - Sam was _everything_ ,” Nathan confesses late one night over what is probably an ill-advised bottle of whiskey while they’re waiting for passage out of this tropical hellhole. “Even when he left at least I knew he was _out there_ somewhere.” He passes a hand over his face and Rafe chooses not to comment on the wetness there. He doubts Nathan even knows he’s crying. “Now he’s gone, and I - I don’t know how to _do this_ without him, Rafe, I _don’t_.”

Rafe doesn’t know what that feels like. He’s never had anyone who comes close to that; growing up amidst an endless cycle of nannies and tutors and boarding schools, he’s only ever had himself. It was a shame that Sam fell, of course - but if it wasn’t for Rafe Nathan probably would have joined his brother, shot dead on a shitty rooftop.

This isn’t _taking advantage_ , Rafe tells himself as he leans forward and puts his hand on Nathan’s cheek. Nathan blinks at him, visibly confused, and Rafe gives him every opportunity to pull away as he leans forward and gently presses his mouth to Nathan’s. Nathan doesn’t, but he doesn’t react, either, and Rafe pulls back a few inches.

“Let me give you something else to think about,” he says, rubbing his thumb through the wet tracks on Nathan’s cheek. This is a _gift_ , a way for Nathan to clear his head and get it back in the game where it belongs. Nathan doesn’t say anything, but he does follow when Rafe gets up and heads to the bedroom, so Rafe counts it as a win.

Nathan kisses hesitantly at first, then with an increasing desperation that says he’s starving for some sort of outlet. He’s a little clumsy at first, like maybe he hasn’t done this much at all, but Rafe is happy to take charge, show him how it’s done. Nathan goes easily when Rafe presses him back on the bed, and although he looks uncertain when Rafe starts undoing his pants, he lifts his hips to help Rafe pull them down. Nathan closes his eyes and groans when Rafe gets a hand around his dick and strokes, but they fly open on a strangled noise when Rafe leans down and gets his mouth on him.

Nathan’s trying to be polite, Rafe can tell, but his hips are jerking up and so Rafe digs his fingers into Nathan’s sides and holds him down while he gets to work. When Rafe rolls his eyes up to check on him Nathan’s staring down at Rafe wide-eyed, and when he comes in Rafe’s mouth Nathan’s face screws up and his head falls back. Rafe swallows and pulls off with one last lick at the tip that makes Nathan twitch underneath him, then crawls up Nathan’s body and cups his jaw for a slow, thorough kiss. Nathan opens his mouth to Rafe’s and Rafe wonders if he can taste himself on Rafe’s tongue.

Nathan’s hands find Rafe’s belt without any prompting, and when he pulls out Rafe’s dick Rafe arches into his touch with a hiss. Rafe settles on his knees astride Nathan’s stomach and lets Nathan jerk him off, rocking up into Nathan’s fist. Nathan watches him like he’s fascinating, grief and regret wiped away for the moment, and that’s the look Rafe savors as his orgasm crests and he comes over Nathan’s chest.

Nathan blinks and looks down at the stripes of come on his shirt, but before he can pitch a fit about it Rafe pulls the shirt up his chest and over his head. After a moment of fighting with the sleeves Nathan is naked in Rafe’s bed, and Rafe rolls him under the coverlet, shedding his own pants and shirt before joining him. He gathers Nathan close and Nathan presses his face into Rafe’s neck.

“You and me,” Rafe murmurs into Nathan’s hair. “We’re going to go to Scotland, we’re going to find Avery’s treasure, and that’s gonna be our memorial to Sam. It’s what he would want, you know? For us to finish this thing.” Nathan presses closer and Rafe pretends not to feel the way he shakes.

Things are better after that, for a while. The journey to Scotland isn’t short, but it gives Nathan time to settle, to refocus, and he seems to have found his purpose again when they touch down in the United Kingdom. Even though it’s summer it’s not exactly what Rafe would call _warm_ here in the highlands, but Nathan doesn’t seem to notice, standing in his shirtsleeves while his skin pebbles, staring at the St. Dismas cathedral rising in the distance. Rafe nudges him, and Nathan blinks for a moment before coming back to himself. The smile he gives Rafe is a ghost of its former self, but they’re _here_ , and that’s what matters. They map out the search area, gridding it as they go, identifying likely spots. It makes Rafe feel _alive_ , to be this close, to be on the verge of _greatness_.

When Nathan crawls into his bed that night Rafe makes room for him, sliding over and wrapping an arm around those broad shoulders. It’s no bad thing, to have Nathan seeking him out; it’s certainly no hardship to have Nathan sighing into his mouth as Rafe gets a hand around both of their dicks, or to serve as practice for Nathan’s first, sloppy attempt at a blowjob. Nathan throws himself into the search by day and Rafe’s bed at night; anything, it appears, to keep himself from thinking, and Rafe is happy to oblige.

Now if only they could find this goddamn treasure.

Weeks turn into months and there’s still no sign of it. They’ve excavated plot after plot of land, tearing up the hillsides with exactly nothing to show for it. Nathan’s slipping again, staring off into the distance with a vacant, lost expression, and sometimes it take three repetitions of his name before he comes back from wherever he’s gone. He clings more fiercely to Rafe in bed, which Rafe would not object to if Nathan didn’t feel more distant - more _useless_ \- every day.

When Nathan finally leaves it’s a disappointment but not a surprise. His brother’s ghost is too present, too heavy; a weight around Nathan’s ankles that’s dragging him down. Nothing, not even an appeal to Sam’s memory can pierce the shroud of mourning Nathan insists on wrapping around himself.

“How can you just _walk away_ ,” Rafe spits. Just because he saw this coming doesn’t mean he’s _happy_ about it. “Sam _died_ for this treasure and you’re just giving up on it? On him?” Nathan flinches but he shoulders his bag and turns his back anyway, heading for the door.

“The treasure’s not here,” he says dully. “And neither is Sam. Goodbye, Rafe.” The door _thumps_ shut behind him and Rafe forces himself to unclench his fists, to breathe.

Fine. _Fine_. Rafe doesn’t need him. Rafe can do this on his own.

Rafe turns back to the table littered with maps and documents, papers he and Nathan pored over a hundred times together, looking for some tiny detail they must have missed. It _must_ be there, somewhere. The treasure _has_ to be here.

Pity, Rafe thinks as he gets back to it. Nathan Drake had such potential. Shame to see it wasted like that.

* * *

**Sam**

Sam knows how to use his teeth, which Rafe appreciates. It’s not uncommon for Sam to leave biting marks on Rafe’s skin, and Rafe enjoys stretching, afterwards, to feel the sore spots and the remnants of Sam’s worshipful attention. Sam is easy to direct, both in bed and out of it, the years away seeming to have softened the brash confidence Rafe remembers.

It had been almost laughably easy to get Sam out, once Rafe had heard the rumors that he had survived. Money talks, after all, and that’s a language Rafe speaks fluently. Sam is grateful - who wouldn’t be, after thirteen years rotting in a third-world prison - and Rafe makes sure he doesn’t forget whom he has to thank for his newfound freedom. Taking him to bed had been an unexpected bonus, but Sam had certainly seemed willing enough and Rafe admits that he’s - curious.

He tallies up the similarities sometimes, keeps a catalogue of the differences between Nathan and Sam in a mental register he never plans on sharing. He’s not sure what he’s looking for; why it’s important that Nathan preferred cream in his coffee while Sam chugs it black, or that they have the same grin when they’re about to kiss him and they think it’s a surprise. Nathan had been curious, exploratory in bed, and while Sam’s more experienced he bends more easily, more _willingly_ for Rafe than Nathan ever did. Sam’s more methodical in his research whereas Nathan made brilliant, intuitive leaps, and both of them are shit at hiding it when something’s bothering them.

Or maybe he just knows them, by now.

He can tell that Sam’s clearly uncomfortable with the way this conversation is going, for example. Or maybe he’s just picking up on Rafe’s aggravation; they had come to this dingy, ill-lit bar to meet a black market contact who was _supposed_ to have some insight into the disposition of certain 17th century antiquities, but instead this waste of space won’t shut up about the last person Rafe wants to hear about.

“Nah, if it’s obscure relics you want, you want Drake.” Sam shifts straighter in his seat and Rafe grits his teeth. He deliberately hasn’t mentioned Nathan to Sam outside of that first awkward conversation on the way out of Panama - _Where’s Nathan? - Not here, buddy. -_ and Sam hadn’t pursued it, at least not in Rafe’s hearing.

What Sam doesn’t know, what he _can’t_ know, having been locked up for all those years, is the way that _Nathan Drake_ has haunted Rafe for over a decade. Rafe had thought he had heard the last of Nathan when he had walked out on Rafe in Scotland, that he was off to drown himself in misery - and good riddance. Instead, Nathan seems to have built himself a fucking _career_ out of the very thing he had refused to help Rafe do. The _last_ thing Rafe is needs is some fucking moron singing Nathan’s praises in front of his brother. The last thing Rafe needs is Sam getting _ideas_.

“Oh man, if even half the things they say about this guy are true -” the dead man across from them whistles. “I’m telling you, man, Nathan Drake is a _legend_. If anyone can find that cross for you, he can.”

Sam is sitting very still next to Rafe, the only movement the curl of smoke coming from the burning cigarette in his fingers.

Rafe smiles, and then - he can’t help it, he laughs. “I wish, you know, I really wish you hadn’t said that.” Rafe pulls the gun from the back of his waistband and fires it in the same motion, and the crimson tinging the edge of his vision matches the smear the body across from him leaves behind as it slumps to the side.

The rest of the bar is suddenly _very_ interested in their drinks.

“ _Jesus_ .” Sam had jumped when Rafe had fired, but his hands only shake a little when he lifts his cigarette to his mouth. Rafe’s waiting for some sort of demand, that Rafe _explain himself_ , but all Sam says is, “Remind me never to piss you off.”

“Don’t sweat it, Samuel.” Rafe slides out of the booth and heads toward the bar, opening his wallet. The price of leaving a dead body behind isn’t terrible in this part of town; it’s more than worth the cash he tosses on the bar to have one less _Nathan Drake_ devotee in the world. He turns back to find Sam taking a drag and regarding him thoughtfully. “You’ll know when that happens.”

That night Rafe drags Sam to bed aggressively, almost defiantly. Sam bends just like he always does, letting Rafe push him on his back and climb astride, working Rafe open with careful fingers until Rafe snaps at him to _get on with it_. Sam groans as Rafe sinks down on him, and Rafe closes his eyes and loses himself in this, in the strong flex of Sam’s body underneath his and the sure grip of Sam’s fingers settling as reverently as always on Rafe’s hips. Rafe doesn’t even protest when Sam pulls him down and rolls them over, wrapping his legs around Sam’s waist and tipping his head back for Sam to suck a biting kiss into his neck. Sam buries his face in Rafe’s shoulder when he comes, shuddering against him while Rafe’s still panting through the afterglow of his own orgasm.

Afterward, Rafe’s drowsing on his stomach and Sam’s propped up on the pillows, playing with an unlit cigarette. Rafe’s told him he can’t light up in the bedroom, but Sam says he likes to have something to do with his hands. His brows are drawn down, and his stare is distant, like he might not be seeing anything in the room.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Rafe yawns. “We’ll find the cross. I’ve got some promising leads in Italy.”

Sam hesitates for a long second - then he relaxes, and his expression clears. “Nah, it’s nothing.” He pops the cigarette back in the carton and leans back with his arms behind his head. “You know, I keep saying I’ll quit these but I never do. No follow through, I guess.”

“They make patches for that,” Rafe mumbles, half-asleep already, and Sam snorts.

“Go to sleep,” he says, and Rafe does.

Two weeks later Sam’s gone, disappeared in the dead of night, and Rafe destroys a hotel room when he wakes up and finds himself alone and without the photocopy of the second St. Dismas cross. He sits for several minutes among the wreckage, breathing heavily, ignoring the panicked murmur of hotel staff on the other side of the door.

God fucking _damnit_ . Rafe should have fucking _known_ not to trust a Drake.

Rafe pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts. He’d picked up this number a while ago; he hopes it’s still in service.

“Ms. Ross?” Rafe beams as the woman on the other end answers in the affirmative. “Fantastic. My name’s Rafe Adler; I have a business proposition for you…”

* * *

**Nadine**

Nadine is - uncomplicated. It’s refreshing, actually, to work with someone without any hidden agendas, without all that _baggage_ , and to know that she answers to something as straightforward as money.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she says the first time she kisses him, hand still curled in his collar. “This is just stress relief, and you’re convenient. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Rafe is fine with that. He knows about being convenient, and Nadine is athletic and beautiful and a hurricane in bed. She leaves Rafe panting and worn out and pleasantly blank. It’s nice, for a while, not to have to think.

And it’s a nice change, for once, to have someone tell him up front exactly how much he means to them.

* * *

**Rafe**

“You said it yourself; you keep running into dead ends,” Nathan says on the edge of a cliff in Libertalia. “Why don’t you face it, Rafe, you _need_ us.” Rafe feels his jaw tighten and his finger twitch against the trigger of the gun aimed at Sam’s face. He _doesn’t_ need them, he doesn’t need _either_ of them.

Except that he does. He does need a Drake brother to unravel the last piece of this puzzle, and the knowledge sits sour in Rafe’s stomach even as he lowers the gun and smiles wide.

“You know, you’re right,” he says, shrugging, savoring the relieved look in Nathan’s eyes. Sam is still watching him guardedly but Sam can go fuck himself.

It’s expediency, he tells himself, that makes him choose Sam instead of Nathan. He knows Nathan, knows him to be bull-headed and stubborn; Sam is a little more flexible, especially with a gun to his head. It has nothing to do with the sick pull of anger every time he hears the name _Nathan Drake_ , or Nathan’s wide-eyed, guileless, _stupid_ face looking at him like they’re going to all sit down and sing fucking kumbaya. Like they’re not way, _way_ past that.

“You’re half-right,” Rafe clarifies as he raises the gun again, aiming squarely at Nathan. “I just need Sam,” he says as he pulls the trigger.

But of course, of _course_ Sam fucks everything up _again,_ dodging in front of his brother and taking the bullet meant for Nathan’s heart through the shoulder. Nathan still goes over the cliffside, though; and there is a pleasing symmetry about that, Rafe thinks as he lowers the gun amid the echoes of Sam’s panicked shout, about watching Nathan fall this time. He’ll keep a shorter leash on Sam this time around - should be easy to do, with a bullet hole in his shoulder - and when he’s outlived his usefulness that will be the _end_ of the fucking Drake brothers.

Only it isn’t, of course it isn’t, because these two are like fucking _cockroaches_ and if the entirety of Shoreline and exploding mummies - and Rafe appreciates paranoid drama as much as the next person, but _really_ \- and a goddamned _rocket launcher_ can’t keep these two down Rafe is honestly not sure that a nuclear blast would either. The only thing, the _only_ thing that matters at this point is getting to the _Fancy_ before Sam and Nathan do. So it’s a real goddamn _bitch_ of a problem when Nadine gets cold feet; or at least, it would be if Rafe hadn’t taken out an insurance policy by way of buying her men out from under her.

Rafe’s learned his lesson about allies.

Only he hasn’t learned it fucking well enough, it seems, because he turns his back on Nadine for two second, two _fucking_ seconds, and then he’s locked in the hold of a burning pirate ship with the two men who couldn’t let him have this, who had to stand in his way at every fucking turn.

“Rafe, she’s gone,” Nathan says, as if that isn’t obvious, rushing over who to his brother. Sam, at least, has had the sense to stay quiet throughout all of this. “Come on, give me hand and we’ll all get out of here.”

“Oh, no,” Rafe hears himself breathe. “No, that won’t work.” He turns his head and his eyes alight on Avery and Tew, still with swords sticking out of their guts.

The blades look like they might still be sharp. Sharp enough, anyway.

“C’mon, help me with Sam and I’ll help you open the door,” Nathan says, tugging at the beam pinning his brother to the floor. There’s no way he’s getting it off by himself, Rafe can see that, but Nathan’s trying anyway.

Always the optimist, that Nathan Drake. Always the optimist except when Rafe had needed it most, when it might have _meant_ something. Rafe has just about had it with mercenaries and treasure hunters and fucking _everyone_ but especially _, especially_ with Nathan Drake.

They had made a pretty good team, once, Rafe thinks distantly as he tugs the sword out of a long-dead pirate - Avery or Tew, he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. But that was a long time ago.

“No,” he says thoughtfully as he hefts the blade, testing the balance. “I’m not going to be able to enjoy one of these coins knowing that you and your _worthless_ brother are still sucking air.”

“All right, just…” Nathan looks like he’s finally, finally getting it, standing and backing away as Rafe advances. About fifteen years too late, but he’s finally getting it. “Just calm down. You can practice your fencing when we get outside,” and oh, Rafe has had it up to _here_ with the Drake brothers and their fucking _jokes_.

“Nate,” he sneers as he lifts the blade between them, ready to finally end it. “Just _shut up_.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [ThirtySixSaveFiles](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


End file.
